A Spot of Bother

by Magenta Wilde

  “Mostly Ash gossip, but I also had Scott gossip.”

  “Scott gossip?” I wondered why she’d have that and I wouldn’t. “What’s going on? He’s not hurt or anything, is he?”

  “No, but apparently he had installed some mirror panels along one wall and they all cracked and warped.”

  “You mean one of them cracked?”

  Mom shook her head. “No. He installed eight of them, and they all cracked or warped. Scott stopped by the hardware store for some things, and told Gavin what had happened. Tom was there, too, so he filled me in when he came back from running errands this morning.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said. “He’s had other problems, too, with a leaky toilet, paint problems, and lots of other quirky inconveniences occurring.”

  “It just proves the place is cursed,” Mom said.

  “It doesn’t prove that,” I scowled. “It’s an old building, and it’s seen a lot of incarnations over the decades. Things probably just weren’t updated.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s cursed.”

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes.

  “I’m serious, Poppy. There’s something going on there. It was that pizza place where things burned or the dough was raw and gooey. It always smelled of anchovies, which I think is a good thing, but it’s not one the masses would agree with.”

  “The owners weren’t experienced with running a restaurant,” I argued.

  “But the Mancini family makes good pizza. Maria learned from her mother, and taught her daughter. People would request their homemade pies, so it should have been a winner.

  “Then, when it was the Irish place there were fights all the time and the place smelled like boiled cabbage, and sometimes like hard-boiled egg farts.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but it did smell sometimes, yes. And the drinks they served were too strong — ”

  “Poppy! Shut your mouth!” Mom interrupted. “There’s no such thing.”

  I rolled my eyes, then continued. “ — The drinks were too strong and they never cut anybody off, or carded anyone really. They got a bit too much in the Old Country spirit by thinking people were old enough to have beers at sixteen or eighteen. You have to admit, those practices practically guaranteed they’d fail.”

  “Perhaps. It was also a 1950s joint, where the fries always burned, and the roller-skating waitresses constantly fell down and broke things. I think one even broke her ankle.”

  “Eh, we already have a 1950s restaurant out on the spur, and families like to go there after seeing a movie or going to Walmart,” I said.

  “It was a gay bar for a hot minute, too. It always got raided by the cops.”

  “That might just be because of some intolerance. And that pastor getting caught by his wife, and all the ruckus that followed.”

  Mom beamed. “Yes, that was rather amusing for that hypocritical bastard to get outed like that. Too bad some other people got exposed before they were ready for their own big gay reveals,” she sighed.

  “The Flaming Frog seems to do alright at least.”

  “It should,” Mom said. “They make damn good cocktails. Also, it’s on our street, so it’s pretty well protected from intolerance.”

  “Wait? What?” This was news to me. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, you didn’t know?” Mom seemed amused. “I thought you knew I erected a sort of protective line up and down Portage.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Do you really need to ask, Poppy? We’re witches, and while people think we’re kind of goofy and eccentric, there are some folks around here who probably would like to see us strung up. So when I moved into Tom’s house and we started the shop, I set up a kind of magical barrier, to keep the bad and intolerant elements away. It used to be only around the house, but I extended it along Portage when you opened your shop next door.”

  “Why all along Portage, and not just our block?”

  Mom shrugged. “I saw the ‘Queer Toad’ was going to open up the street, and I thought they could use a hand.”

  “Wait? Queer Toad? What are you talking about?”

  “That’s what I call the Flaming Frog. It’s also code.”

  “Like, if someone coughs out ‘queer toad,’ they’re really referring to the Flaming Frog?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you put up a barrier to protect them, too?”

  Mom nodded.

  “That’s surprisingly kind of you,” I said.

  “Hey, I love gays. The men are usually very sexy and flamboyant — not all are flaming, I know, so don’t lecture me, Poppy — and the lesbians have this wonderful bluntness to them, so naturally I want the gays to have a safe haven. Plus, have you seen their drag shows? One guy there goes dressed as ‘Gayona’ with false eyelashes, sequins and a blonde wig, so it’s clearly a tribute to me.”

  “You know that drag queens often do wear glitter, false eyelashes and wigs, right?”

  “Hush, you. ‘Gayona’ is clearly modeled on me. Now, where were we? Right. The cursed location. Then it was an ice cream shop, …” Mom continued.

  I wanted to hear more about “Gayona,” but thought I’d just stop in to the Flaming Frog and see if I could meet the queen in question myself. That was sure to be amusing.

  A thought came to me and I couldn’t fight the grin from spreading.

  “Poppy, are you thinking of taking Roger there?”

  “I was.”

  “He’d be a hot item. You might be there, too, with your red hair. It looks a bit more edgy. A few lesbians might be into that.”

  “Then they have good taste,” I said.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear some self-confidence, and it’s not just lip, either.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “You’re feeling good about yourself. It’s radiating off you in waves. Now, stop distracting me. I’m trying to think of Scott’s location. There was the ice cream shop.”

  “An ice cream shop isn’t likely to do well here. I mean, we rarely have hot summers here, and who wants a cone when it’s twenty-below in February. Now, maybe if the owners had also offered lattes and cocoas and some desserts … .”

  “It’s still cursed. Their ice creams were terrible. It was always rock hard or too melty.”

  “I think Scott’s got a good formula. He makes good beer. You sampled some the other night. Amber found a good chef for the place, too. I think bar food and brews could do very well there.”

  “It could and it should, but it’s still cursed, and I can’t believe you’re lying to your own mother. I know you’ve thought the exact same things yourself!” Mom stamped a high-heeled foot on the floor, causing Clover to raise his head. After looking around for a few seconds, the feline promptly set its head back down and went back to sleep.

  “Fine,” I blew out a sigh. “Some … worries … have crossed my mind when I thought about the location’s history.”

  Mom smiled, her expression triumphant.

  “And,” I continued, “I think when we came across that extra room the other night, there was something funky in the air. It smelled … angry or disappointed, I guess you could say.”

  “See, I didn’t smell anything — my sense of smell isn’t as keen as yours is either — but to me there was something, a kind of shimmer in the air. Like if you touch something you’d get a spark from static electricity.”

  “So that’s why you think it’s cursed?”

  “No. I thought it was cursed before, but I think that we may be close to the source of the problem.”

  I told my mother about some of the other things Scott had mentioned, like the paint peeling or warping with the pale blue choice. Also the ghost.

  “And the green paint posed no issue?” Mom asked.

  “It seems to be working fine. What do you think the source of the problem is? Is it the safe? The room? The contents of the safe?” I stood and retrieved the box of artifacts, showing them to my mother.

 
“Hmmmm,” she said, as she held up each item one by one. “Interesting. There’s quite the story here. I’m not sure what it is, but I feel soaring highs and some really awful lows as I focus.” She skimmed through some of the letters. “Wow. These are syrupy sweet, aren’t they? Beloved this, my heart that, undying devotion there. I’m getting a toothache from reading some of this.” She grew quiet as she read on for a few moments and I was sure I saw her eyes mist somewhat. “Oh, this is sad. The letters are full of hope and despair, depending, and the red feather seems to be laced with a message, but I’m not sure what. The long nail, I think it’s a coffin nail, and I think it’s almost a curse. It doesn’t quite fit with the rest of it. The butterfly wings, I get a sense of wonder from those. The drawing of the girl — Cora, you say? — that is laced with desire.” She held the sketch in her hand and closed her eyes. “Oh yes, this Ernest guy had it bad for her. And she for him.”

  “A love story, from its elated beginnings, to perhaps a rupture when she had to marry that Jacob guy. I’m thinking she had to bow to her parents’ wishes,” I sighed.

  “We women often did back then. And still do in some parts of the world. Why are we still viewed as second-class citizens in so much of the world, and still in great portions of our society?”

  “I was hoping you’d know,” I drawled.

  We were silent for a few moments. Then Mom shrugged and returned the contents to the box. “I really don’t know. I was thinking about dear Clover here that night you found the items, and didn’t give it much thought then. These items give some direction, but it’s murky. Maybe we should return and suss it out.”

  “Maybe smudge some sage around, too?”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “I’m surprised you’re willing to help,” I said.

  “Why? Did you think I wouldn’t?” Mom looked surprised. “I like Scott. He was good to you when you dated him. You were this silly shy girl in college mooning over that stupid-ass Fletcher, and you were so mopey after he dumped you. When you hit it off with Scott, and he was easy going and liked you just as you were, I grew very fond of him. I think he smokes too much pot — ”

  “High Times magazine might think he smokes too much pot,” I snorted. “He’s on Snoop Dogg and Willie Nelson levels.”

  “Yes, well, despite that, I like the guy. He’s got a good heart. And I like the girl he’s seeing. She’s a bit quiet, but not in a weird way. Plus I like her flashy purple hair.”

  “But you don’t like my bright red ‘do?” I asked, more to rib her than anything.

  “I don’t dislike it,” Mom hedged. “I just think you’d look better as a — ”

  “As a blonde,” I finished for her.

  12

  I decided not to visit the historical society alone, considering Roger’s warning. I was mentioning what he’d said in front of Vanessa and Jordan, and when my mother got ahold of the gossipy tidbit, she told me she would be the one coming along.

  “Are you worried he’ll try something inappropriate?” Jordan asked.

  Mom shook her head. “I know Poppy can take care of herself. I just merely want to feel the guy out. I’ve heard through the rumor mill that he’s a pig, so I want to see the oinker in action.”

  “I’m surprised that you aren’t pushing me to come along then,” Vanessa said.

  “It’s a thought, but I think if I show up wearing a skirt and heels, and Poppy wears something that indicates she’s a woman, that will be more than enough,” Mom replied.

  “So, no oversized sweatshirt or hoodie, is what you’re saying,” I quipped.

  “Most definitely not,” Mom said. “One, no one should ever wear those unless they’re camping, and two, you want to get some information, so you’d want to look polished, like you’re someone worth talking to.”

  “I disagree on point one,” I said, “but point two makes sense.”

  “That’s why I think we should head over there today, Poppy. You’re wearing a nice sweater and skirt. I suggest you put on a pair of my heels and let’s see what that pervert’s got waiting for us.”

  I sighed, ready to protest, and then thought why not. I wanted to know more about this Cora Parker and this Ernest Sloane, and about Scott’s building. If this Lester the Lech ended up getting fresh, Mom and I could easily put him in place. “Fine, but nothing more than two inches.”

  “Two?” Mom scoffed. “That’s positively matronly.”

  “Plus, do you really even have any two-inch heels?” Vanessa asked.

  “I’ve got a pair of mules with kitten heels, but they’re satin and I will not subject them to the elements. Three will do. You’re on the tall side anyways.”

  “There you go, Mom, just like a man, pushing for more inches.”

  The city’s historical society was on Ashmun, which served as the Sault’s main street. It was a two-story red brick and stone building, with ample window space on both levels, giving an impression of open-ness when we entered.

  A woman behind the front desk rose and greeted us, though her eyes were wary as she took in my mother’s glittery countenance and my blood-red hair. “Hello, ladies. How can I help you?”

  Mom glanced down at the desk, reading her name plate. “Doreen?” Doreen nodded. “Good to meet you. We were wondering if Lester — I believe that’s his name — is available. We had some questions about some local history, among other things.”

  Doreen’s face was blank for a moment, her gaze going between us. “What other things?”

  “It’s basically tied to the history of one of the buildings up the road,” I explained.

  She gave a curt nod and excused herself. While we waited I picked up a flyer and looked it over.

  “Ah, ladies!” A short-ish man who made me think of a wet-eyed turtle approached. He had thinning hair that was long overdue for a trim and it stuck out in tufts. A pair of tortoiseshell glasses were slid low down his nose as he bounded out to greet us. Both mother and I in our high-heeled boots had a couple inches over him. He looked us up and down, his gaze lingering over our legs and chests before giving us a lascivious grin. My first thought was that his reputation did not appear to be exaggerated. “I’m Lester Kavanaugh. How may I help you this fine November day?”

  “Hello Mr. Kavanaugh,” Mom began, holding out a hand to him. “We had some questions about a building up the street that’s being renovated.”

  “And we were hoping you could give us some background,” I finished.

  Lester was quiet for a moment and then motioned his hands energetically to show us which direction he wanted us to go, and I made sure to go first and stay well ahead of him in case his hands began to roam, considering he kept them close to rump level. Mom sashayed quickly behind me and Lester jogged to keep up.

  “You two ladies are quick, aren’t you?” he huffed.

  “We’re fast on our feet, yes,” Mom agreed.

  “We were trying to outrun our shadow,” I added.

  “What?” Lester looked confused.

  We ignored him.

  My mother headed to one of the two chairs facing his desk, but he ushered us to a sitting area opposite. Mom took the lone armchair, and I was forced to take the couch. Lester immediately plopped down next to me, making sure his leg grazed mine, and then spread his legs out a bit wider so he could bump against my thigh. Though I was wearing tights I could feel the heat of his leg against mine. It felt hot and clammy and I crossed my legs and gave him a light accidentally-on-purpose kick to create a bit of distance.

  “Would you ladies like a cup of coffee?” he asked, leaning in toward me. His breath was rotten and I inhaled shallowly to protect my senses.

  Mom nodded. “Yes. With cream and sugar.”

  “The same,” I nodded.

  Lester called out for Doreen and gave her his request; she looked us over as she gave a curt head shake and vanished up the hall.

  “I also would like it if you’d move over a few inches,” I said, making a small shooing moti
on with my fingers. “The couch is a big one, and I’d like to have a bit of space between us.”

  “Oh!” Lester looked surprised and then did as requested, scooting a couple inches away.

  “A bit farther, please.”

  “Ah, I’m sorry. I don’t want to seem inappropriate,” Lester said. He moved a few more inches away and then leaned toward me as he rested his hand on my knee and gave it a firm squeeze. His hand was hot and damp and I inwardly cringed. “Is that better? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Sometimes I can’t help myself, as I’m a real people person.”

  “Where you’re sitting is fine,” I said. “You can stop squeezing my knee, too,” I added for measure.

  He lifted his hand and held it up in a yielding manner. “I’m sorry, my dear. Ah, I didn’t get your names.”

  “I’m Poppy and this is my mother Fiona.”

  “Ah, Mrs. Wheeler, I believe,” Lester said as he looked my mother up and down. She crossed her legs and I couldn’t help but notice his eyes training in on her as she daintily extended her heel and twisted it behind her calf. He seemed to forget himself for a moment. “You, ah, you own the antique store on Portage.”

  Mom nodded.

  “And you, Poppy? You own that little store next door, right by the Farley family’s fudge shop?”

  I nodded.

  Doreen at that moment brought in some coffees for us. Mom and I thanked her while Lester ignored her completely. She hung back for a moment until he told her to finish some filing.

  Once she was gone he looked back to my mother and then to me.

  “So how can I help you two lovely, lovely ladies?”

  “A friend of ours is renovating that building up the street, by the canal,” Mom began.

  “Ah, yes, the Chapman building, correct?”

  “Is that what it’s called?” I said. “I never saw a name on it like you see on a few other buildings downtown.”

  “Yes, it used to have a plaque on it, but that’s long gone.”

  “What can you tell us about it?” I asked.